


repair the truth

by waveydnp



Series: amaaf verse [10]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demisexuality, Lingerie, M/M, brief reference to self harm scars, musings on gender expression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: He’s not as brave as Dan, not as settled into himself; letting people see this part of him makes him feel exposed. He still cares what the clerk behind the register will think of him buying lacy pink pants.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Series: amaaf verse [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1018620
Comments: 29
Kudos: 204
Collections: phandomficfests: escape from reality





	repair the truth

**Author's Note:**

> a visual aid: https://xdress.com/products/mens-chiffon-and-lace-shorts?variant=31147312971870#Image13460591837278

Phil walks by a rack of shirts, trailing his fingers slowly over the material of each one, making the hangers clink together gently. He’s wandered off from his spot next to Jimmy, having lost the will to pretend he has any helpful input. If it were up to him, they’d have been in and out of this shop in five minutes.

“You look good in everything,” Phil had told him after Jimmy had held the seventh shirt up under his chin with an expectant look on his face.

He’d panicked right after the words had left his mouth. The years he spent quietly in love with this man still cling to his heart, and sometimes in these little  
moments where it’s just the two of them, he forgets that the rules are different now. Jimmy is in love with someone else, and so is Phil. It doesn’t change the fact that Jimmy is gorgeous, but Phil doesn’t need to say it out loud.

But Jimmy had just rolled his eyes and said, “You’re no help at all, Lester.”

Phil hadn’t missed the way his eyes had gone soft, though, the way Jimmy had nudged him reassuringly with his elbow. They’ve been living apart for nearly a year, but Jimmy still knows. He still knows how Phil’s mind works.

Sometimes it still feels like too much, those sea green eyes and all the depth of feeling and history they hold.

So Phil leaves him to sort out his own wardrobe choices. He wanders around looking at expensive clothes that hold no interest for him, wondering when, or if, he’s ever going to mature in his own tastes beyond graphic tees and hoodies.

Dan would love this place, he thinks. It advertises itself as ‘genderless,’ and each piece he lays his eyes on is stranger than the last. In a good way, though. He wouldn’t necessarily have thought that before meeting Dan, but now the first thing he thinks when he sees an outfit he doesn’t understand is: _Dan would look great in that_.

Then his eyes catch on something that Dan would _really_ look great in.

His pulse kicks up a little even just looking at the display. His immediate thought is that the sheer lace-trimmed shorts he’s looking at are about as far from genderless as it gets, but he pushes back against it. He can hear Dan’s voice in his head telling him that clothes have no gender. Gender is a social construct that mostly just exists to keep people in boxes that are far too small for the complexity of the human spirit.

Phil reaches out to touch the delicate fabric. He can imagine the way it would feel with soft warm skin underneath, and heat settles into his cheeks when he realizes he’s going to buy them. He’s not as brave as Dan, not as settled into himself; letting people see this part of him makes him feel exposed. He still cares what the clerk behind the register will think of him buying lacy pink pants.

But he’s growing. He knows that, because even though it makes him anxious, he picks a pair out in Dan’s size and doesn’t try to hide them as he walks back over to where Jimmy is idly browsing a stack of jeans. Jimmy’s eyes catch on the pants first, then flick up to Phil’s face with wordless questioning.

“For Dan,” Phil says, not as confidently as he’d like, but he’ll allow himself that. He’s doing his best.

He waits for Jimmy to take the piss or say something crude, but it’s Jimmy, so of course he senses Phil’s vulnerability. “Nice,” he says gently. “He’s gonna look hot.”

Phil smiles sheepishly and looks down at the tiny black bow on the front of the waistband. “He always looks hot.”

The clerk doesn’t bat an eye when Phil puts the pants on the counter. In fact she smiles as she scans the tag and folds them into a neat looking square. “These are so cute,” she says cheerfully.

Phil chuckles in an awkward sort of way. Even in the face of this woman’s friendly ambivalence, he feels out of place. “Yeah.”

“Just make sure you wash them in cold water on the delicate cycle and hang them to dry, yeah? Otherwise you’ll only be able to wear them a few times before they shrink right up.”

“Oh, uh. Alright, thanks..” He hands her his credit card. His heart is hammering knowing what he’s about to say next, but Jimmy’s eyes are on him, and that makes him feel a little braver. “I’ll… I’ll tell my boyfriend. They’re for him.”

“Oh, nice!” She’s got the whole amiable customer service thing down, not a moment’s lull in her reaction.

His hands are still a little shaky as he takes the bag from her.

Once they’re outside, he exhales deeply, like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. “God,” he says quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. “Why does that still feel so bloody terrifying?”

Jimmy squeezes the tense knot of muscle behind Phil’s shoulder. “Because it is.” He hooks his arm around the back of Phil’s neck and pulls him in for a cuddle.

Phil goes easily, pressing his forehead against Jimmy’s cheek. It doesn’t make any sense to him that the words are hard when living them is so simple, but he takes the thought and tucks it away. Maybe he’ll bring it up at therapy next week.

-

Dan is already home when Phil gets back, lolled out on the sofa with one leg draped over the arm and his laptop balanced on top of his chest. He’s still wearing his work clothes, all black from head to toe without a single splash of colour. He grunts a greeting as Phil kicks the door shut behind him and toes out of his trainers. The little shopping bag in his hand feels conspicuous, but Dan doesn’t even look up from whatever he’s doing.

“How’s Jimmy?”

“Good,” Phil says, heading for the kitchen. “Still a nightmare to go shopping with.”

“Tell him to invite me next time,” Dan calls. “I’m great at shopping.”

Phil smiles fondly as he pulls the fridge open and grabs a can of diet coke. “You are,” he agrees, maybe not even loud enough for Dan to hear, but it doesn’t matter. He knows from experience that Dan’s already allowed himself to be swallowed back up by whatever it is online that’s currently holding his attention.

Phil doesn’t mind. He understands the need to unwind after a long day of latte-slinging, and he’d never begrudge Dan for it. He closes the fridge and stuck to the freezer door is Dan’s newest magnet poem:

tonight  
i paint soft music  
and you repair the truth

Sometimes Dan’s poems are completely illogical, random words he arranges in ways he hopes will make Phil smile, or maybe even laugh. Sometimes they’re dark, sad; expressions of a pain he works hard every day to understand. Sometimes, like today, they’re sparse and strangely beautiful, even if Phil doesn’t really understand them. He’s not even sure Dan understands them. Phil reckons it doesn’t actually matter. He can think it’s beautiful, and that’s as much as he needs to understand for it to mean something to him.

He likes this one. This one he’d like to keep. His camera is all the way down the hall and tucked safely into his desk drawer, so he settles for pulling his phone from his pocket and snapping a photo that way.

He puts the coke back in the fridge. He doesn’t really want it; he’s just stalling.

But he picks the bag up off the counter and carries it out to the lounge anyway. He drops it on the coffee table and plucks the laptop off Dan’s chest. Dan squawks his disapproval for only an instant, only until Phil lays himself half on top of him and squashes his face into Dan’s chest.

Dan pets Phil’s hair. He smells like coffee. Phil’s not sure what he’s going to do when that isn’t a part of their reality anymore. He’s become fiercely attached to it, the warm earthy cologne of roasted beans.

“Hi,” Phil mumbles into Dan’s shirt.

Dan brushes Phil’s sad, drooping quiff off his forehead and strokes the skin with his thumb. “Hi.”

“What truth am I repairing?”

“Hm.” His hand moves down to rub Phil’s back. “You tell me.”

Phil thinks about it for a long minute, closing his eyes to the slow rhythm of Dan’s fingers running up and down his spine. “Maybe I wish I wasn’t always so afraid of things.”

“Phil.”

Phil lifts his head, letting his chin dig into Dan’s sternum as he looks up at Dan’s face. He looks tired today. There’s a darkness under his eyes that’s more than just the slight smudge of day-old mascara.

“I got you something,” Phil says.

“You did?”

He nods towards the bag. Dan lifts his eyebrows in surprise. “Can I look?”

Phil nods, then sits up, pulls his legs to his chest, hugs his knees. It’s a very obvious tell that Dan picks up on right away.

He frowns. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m gonna look.”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “Good. Look.”

Dan opens the bag and peers inside. Phil’s guts twist themselves into knots, but he forces himself not to hide his face in shame.

There’s nothing shameful happening. Dan’s eyebrows lift up again, higher this time. “Wow, Phil.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“There isn’t one,” Phil says, letting his legs drop. “I just saw them and thought of you.”

Dan smirks. “I bet you did.”

Phil kicks his leg out and makes contact with Dan’s. Gently, but not _that_ gently. “Not like that, dickhead.”

“Really?” Dan teases. “Not even a little bit?”

“I just thought you’d like them.”

Dan’s smile softens. “I do.”

“They’re nice.”

“They’re really nice,” Dan agrees. “Should I put them on?”

Phil slumps back, melting into the sofa crease. “Only if you want. They’re for you.”

“I know they’re for me.”

“I didn’t get them because I want a show or something like that.”

“Phil, oh my god, mate.” Dan drops the bag back onto the table and then climbs into Phil’s lap. He takes hold of Phil’s head on either side of his face. “I _know_. You’re overthinking this.”

Phil huffs. “I’m kind of good at that.”

“It’s just underwear, yeah?” He smushes Phil’s cheeks and leans in to kiss his puckered lips. “No big deal.”

“No big deal,” Phil echoes.

“I’m gonna go put them on.” He climbs off Phil’s lap and snags the handle of the bag with one finger. “Because I want to.”

“Okay.”

“I also wanna kick your ass at Mario Kart, so you’re gonna set that up while I change.” He kicks at Phil’s foot very gently.

Phil smiles. He still has these moments where it feels unreal that he ever did anything worthy of winning over a person as good as Dan, but he’s damn glad he gets to have him anyway. “Yeah, okay.”

Dan heads to the bedroom and when he returns a few minutes later, the Mario Kart theme music soundtracks his grand entrance. It may not be a big deal, but Phil’s not above letting his eyes linger on the long line of Dan’s bare legs as he sits next to Phil on the couch.

Phil can’t even see the pants, because they’re covered by the length of Dan’s most oversized black hoodie. He reaches out and runs his fingers over the bumps of Dan’s scars.

Dan smiles, ever so slightly smug. “Just say you want me to show you.”

“I want you to show me.”

Dan huffs a little laugh as he lifts up the bottom of his sweater. The black lace at the hem is striking against the milky pale of his thighs, and Phil can barely look at what’s above it, the sheer pink material that hides absolutely none of all that _Dan_ underneath.

“I was right,” Phil says, his voice gone a bit husky. “They look really good on you.”

“Comfy, too.” Dan drops the hoodie back down, then leans in to press a kiss to Phil’s temple. “Thanks.”

Phil nods, turning his head to face the telly. He hadn’t wanted to make it about him, but they really do look very nice.

Dan elbows him gently. “If you wanna be turned on about it later, that’s okay. I won't hold it against you.”

The burst of laughter that escapes Phil’s mouth feels like relief. He elbows Dan back. “Shut up.”

To Phil, it means a lot more than _stop talking_. It means _yeah, I’m definitely gonna be turned on about it later_ and _thank you for being patient with me_ and _I love you so much it hurts_.

Dan shuffles in even closer and drapes his leg over top of Phil’s before he starts the game. He knows what Phil means. He always knows.


End file.
